


Longing

by jenaicompris



Series: A Deeper Meaning [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bucky Barnes Feels, F/M, New Faces, Old Friends, handy!Bucky, i don't even know what happened, now i don't even know if there will be smut, probably will be smut, sort of accidental, this was supposed to be smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-30
Updated: 2017-03-22
Packaged: 2018-08-11 22:11:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7909507
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jenaicompris/pseuds/jenaicompris
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Emma Manchester moves to a cheap apartment in Brooklyn and makes friends with an elderly man down the street, who is having repairs done on his house by 'an old friend'. James, as he is introduced, is a quiet sullen sort of man with little patience for the eager-to-help graduate student. With an uncovered window leading straight into her life and a penchant for popping up unannounced, Emma weasels her way into an unexpected situation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Old House, New Neighbor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This...got way out of hand. Way, way out of hand. It was supposed to be a one-shot smut. I have so much written. It will now be the first of a ten-part miniseries. This is for my wifey. Love you. (Most of the time, look what you did to me!) Unbeta'd. And the Polish is weird. (Accents are missing, at the very least.) See end notes for translations.

The hill sucked. It sucked less now, a few years after growing used to the up and down that came with the strangely uneven terrain on the East Coast but after a 10K marathon that morning, it made her stiff muscles groan. _Down_ the hill wasn’t even the hard part.

With a pillowcase holding her laundry slung over one shoulder, Emma Manchester walked the few blocks from her apartment to the laundromat down the road a piece. She didn’t always splurge on having the kind woman, Karina, do her load but that day she felt like relaxing at The Evergreen instead of tapping her foot on the linoleum of the place while she waited for the washing cycle to end.

With a ‘hi, how are you’ to the Karina, she dropped the bundle onto the scale and noted happily that it was just over the 10lb minimum.

Emma made small talk while the other woman calculated her price and then Emma handed over her money. She was still pretty disappointed they hadn’t implemented a tip jar despite her repeated suggestion to do so specifically for the woman whose skin was the same color as the coffee she drank. After leaving with a promise to be back by the agreed-upon time, she waved a little before walking back onto the warm street.

She was a grad student at Columbia, having finished her undergrad in Massachusetts the spring before. The school was close, close enough anyway – Emma was comfortable in a good part of Brooklyn, with impossibly low rent for a decent area even _if_ her apartment only actually had three doors, two of them leading out.

Emma climbed the flight of stairs back into her apartment, the “front” door leading straight into her living room/bedroom/office, the kitchen a scant less-than-twenty feet from the very small entryway.

She pressed the window unit on as she passed by, setting her bag on the daybed-cum-couch before she stripped along the way to the shower. She didn’t think much of the closeness of the houses and she had long-since forgotten, in the few weeks since she had taken up the lease, that she lacked blinds in one of her living room/bedroom windows – the one without the air conditioner.

In general, this wasn’t an issue – while she did prefer to lounge about in her skivvies, she usually at least wore some level of shirt-type-thing. More than she’d wear to a pool, anyway. The house right next to hers, she could’ve probably reached the siding if she had stretched out the window, had thick curtains in the window across from hers. The inhabitants seemed nice, at least from the soft nods and smiles she shared with them. She was pretty sure it was split into apartments too, but she didn’t pay much attention to the goings-on around her, as long as her lock didn’t looked messed with.

The house on the other side of that one was taller, the one next to her with a flat roof and the one beyond that with a high pitch, like a mountain over her neighbor. That wasn’t apartments; she had met the older gentleman that lived there on more than one occasion. Whenever he was on the porch and she came out, she would stop to chat with him. He was kind, if a little hard of hearing. In 2010, the man was near mid-nineties but was surprisingly spry. His wife had died a few years ago of heart failure and they had never had children, for a reason he hadn’t shared with Emma.  His name, he told her, was William Robert Allan. She called him ‘Mr. Allan’. He asked her to call him Liam.

Emma would bring him groceries sometimes and run errands, when she managed to pull what he needed from him despite a very stubborn desire to avoid assistance. She noticed the scaffolding and ladders but hadn’t seen any workmen. Emma teased him on her way back from the library, “Are you doing all this by yourself, in the dark of night?”

Liam smiled at her brightly, eyes that had once been a chocolate brown a little cloudy with age. “Wouldn’t that be a sight? No, no, my dear. A friend of mine has been coming by sometimes, he’s helping me fix up the place.”

“You need any help painting, I’m your lady,” she smiled back, tipping her head a little. “And if you gentlemen need refreshments, just call me.” She had long-since given Liam her number, in case he needed anything. He had never used it but she knew he had it, on a piece of paper by his phone. He was a hold-out against cell phones and she loved him for it.

This friend of his seemed to be scarce. The work was slow going and Emma never actually managed to spot this so-called buddy of his. She imagined it was better than nothing but she couldn’t help but hope that someone could give him more attention. She hated him being alone.

It was a Saturday; New York had settled after the most recent alien invasion, flying aliens on motorcycles or something. She had, of course, watched the news – she was holed up in her dorm room at the time, back in Massachusetts. Her dad wasn’t amused when she said she wanted to move to New York less than a year into rebuilding, but Columbia was calling and she answered. He was torn between being furious that she was putting herself in ‘danger’ and being incredibly proud of her for be accepted into the prestigious grad school.

She had some research to do over the weekend but nothing absolutely _pressing_ that meant she couldn’t have a little bit of fun. Mind you, Emma had a particular opinion of _fun_. It included preparing Pierogis and Bigos – she had planned ahead of time and stopped off at a market in Greenpoint and managed to snag Oranzada and some daily-made sernik. Emma herself had little to no knowledge, prior to meeting Liam, of any Polish traditions or food. She had made it a point of interest, however, when he vaguely mentioned this or that, which led her to find out that his mother had been fresh off the boat in New York when she met his father.

And now, a little later than she normally would have intended to serve dinner, she was walking two doors down with a bag full of dishes and a few bottles of the sort-of-soda. She had been inside his house a few times; mostly just to bring things inside for him.  

He welcomed her in with a warm smile and a warmer hand on her bare shoulder, the house cool but not cold. “Sloneczko, Emma,” continued to smile as he led her in, closing the door over and shuffling slowly towards the kitchen. He was surprisingly spry for a man of his years, although he did pick up a cane as he neared the kitchen doorway. Emma eyed the linoleum and thought, perhaps, it was an attempt to stop himself from slipping. His house shoes looked like they had thick rubber soles – _good_.

“I hope you didn’t already have dinner plans, Liam. I made some things I thought you might like…” she paused and reached into the bag, lifting one of the bottles of orange-colored fizzy water. “Surprise!”

“Oh, no. James usually brings something when he comes, and he’s due…but it’ll keep,” he winked at her a little, after looking to the clock on the wall behind her head.

“Is he your friend?” she asked, dark eyebrow lifted as she gestured up with the soda bottle – as if to encompass the house overall, referencing the man that was meant to be helping. “James, I mean? Is he the man that has been helping you?”

“Oh! Yes, he’s an old friend,” Liam beamed at her and Emma tried not to make a face of shock. Just how ‘old’ of a friend could he be, if he was able-bodied enough to single-handedly repair the older man’s home? “He should be along shortly. I don’t suppose you made enough for three?”

She had, indeed, made an unnecessarily large amount of food – she anticipated her own hunger as well as leftovers for him. She had gotten six of the sodas, unsure how much he liked them or how much she would. “I’m sure I do, Liam. If not, I’ve got all the things back home, I could make some more.”

“Oh, no, no. He does have quite the appetite but I am sure, between what he is bringing and what you have, we’ll have plenty.”

Emma moved to set out what she had brought, hiding the cheesecake in the fridge without allowing Liam to see while she put the sodas in to chill more. She had kept them in her own but she wanted to make _sure_ they were deliciously cool.

A knock resounded from the front door and Liam perked up a little from the seat he had taken in the kitchen. Emma put a calming hand on his forearm, “I can get it. Won’t be but a minute.”

She moved swiftly to the front door, although slowly through the kitchen as to not make a point of her ability to move more quickly than he could.

She approached the door with her eyes on her feet, the thick metal door closed and blocking the person behind it. Her eyes shifted to the handle and she turned it, smiling broadly up at the man on the other side of the glass. His face darkened briefly, switching to a look of confusion and concern but not fast enough. He was dressed in aged jeans and a dark sleeveless men’s tanktop, a tool belt slung low about his hips. His hair, dark and long, was pulled mostly back from his face with a few strands landing against the scruff on his chin. The most noticeable thing about him was not the strange metal prosthetic arm (veteran?) that replaced his left, but the scowl that he wore at the sight of her.

Emma made a concerted effort not to let her smile drop as she opened the other door out a little, causing the man to step to the side.

He couldn't be James, could he? He had to.

“You must be James,” she said at the same moment that he blurted, “Who are you?”

“Emma,” she replied, her smile wavering a little. James stepped in and she moved back, pressing herself against the opened metal door as he leaned in awkwardly close. As if he was inspecting her.

“James!” Liam called from the kitchen and the man in front of Emma seemed to relax a fraction, pulling back and shifting to follow the sound of the voice. His eyes stayed on her until he had to turn his head to continue. Despite the fact that his back was to her, she felt like he was still watching her.

Trying to shake the unnerving sensation, she shook her head and closed the door over before padding her way back to the kitchen.

“Who is this?” James asked with a dark eyebrow raised, arms folded over his chest. His very muscled arms over his very muscled chest.

Liam made a face and James cleared his throat, repeating the question. The older man shifted his gaze to the brunette young woman and smiled softly. “Emma,” he replied, as if that explained everything.

The woman in question resisted the urge to roll her eyes as she moved to take the bag of takeout James had brought with him, shifting to the fridge. He caught her arm roughly and she squeaked, more out of surprise than pain. It was a tight grip but really, she just hadn't expected the move.

“What are you doing here? Who are you? What do you want?”

His voice was a low growl and Liam looked perturbed, clearly unable to make out exactly what he'd said. However, he saw the way his friend held her arm and he tsked.

“James, leave her be. She's no harm. She lives down the street.” His muddy eyes shifted to Emma's green ones, and he smiled. James made a noise of disapproval but released his grip. Emma suppressed the instinct to rub her offended forearm and finished her quest to move the food.

When she turned around again, James was watching her. This time, Emma watched him back with a raised eyebrow and hands on her hips. After half a beat, she extended her hand out to him. “Emma Manchester. I live two doors down. I made dinner. Liam has told me you are working on his house. I pop by when I can.”

“I've told you about her,” Liam prompted, frowning a little at James’ behavior. “Moj skarbe.”

 Emma didn't know the words Liam spoke but felt like they were pleasant, between his tone and the look he gave her after.

James’ eyes widened a fraction before they narrowed suspiciously at Emma and he huffed, eventually extending his hand and taking hers. She had half-expected him to swat it away and did not at all expect him to lift it to his lips, pressing her knuckles briefly to his mouth.

“Don't mind him, sloneczko. He is just protective of his old friend.”

Emma didn't even bother asking how old of a friend he could be, given the apparent disparity in ages. The man didn't look a day over thirty. It didn't matter, not really. She resumed smiling brightly and took her hand back, shifting her eyes to Liam.

“Plates?”

Liam gestured towards a cupboard but James was there before Emma had even turned to look. She couldn't help the surprised look on her face when he handed her a stack of three plates. She thanked him quietly and moved back to set the plates out, thanking him again when he brought over silverware.

She had left out the dishes she had brought, still hot on the table, and shifted to the fridge to take out the sweet, liquid surprise.

Liam’s face lit up when he saw the drink and his grin brightened more when she revealed the dishes she had made.

The three of them settled in and the oldest member was murmuring his praise in Polish and English after nearly every bite.

“It's wonderful, isn't it James? Just like my mama used to make.”

James side-eyed Liam briefly, stiffening at the reference slightly for a reason Emma couldn't understand. His eyes shifted to the woman in their midst before the smallest of smiles tugged at one edge of his lips. “Yes.”

Well, at least he was playing nice.

Dinner consisted mostly of long stares from James and pleasant conversation between Emma and Liam, the latter of whom attempted to coax James into joining them. It worked one out of every few attempts, but his answers were very curt.

They managed to demolish the food between the three of them, Emma feeling refuelled after her strenuous morning. They settled into satiated silence for a time before Emma, with a secretive smile, stole back to the fridge and removed her final surprise.

“Oh, sloneczko, you are going to make an old man weep,” Liam beamed as he shook his head, taking the helping of homemade-store-bought cheesecake she served.

“I just wanted to do something nice for a friend,” she responded by way of accepting his thanks. __

James was still watching her intently and, although he seemed to relax marginally throughout the meal, he still appeared to be more suspicious than not.

“Would you like any help around here tonight?”

Liam waved her off, “You are young and beautiful, my girl. Best not waste your Saturday, puttering around with two old men.”

James looked as if he was going to choke and Emma laughed a little, shaking her head. Just how _young_ did he think she was, suggesting James was old? “Don't you worry about me, Liam. You're just the kind of man I’d like to spend the evening with. Are you sure I can't convince you into letting me help with anything?”

“I think my Anna would love you,” Liam smiled, eyes a little watery. He reached the hand out to her that did not hold his fork and covered hers lightly. “But James has taken good care of me. There isn't much enough for you to be done.”

With the cheesecake finished, Emma gathered up the dishes. “I'll do these then, and be out of your hair.”

“I can do those,” James offered, looking no less perturbed by her presence than he had all evening.

She waved him off good-naturedly, “It's no problem, honestly. I promise, I'll be going soon.”

“I-” he started and then closed his mouth quickly, nodding once before he moved over to help Liam find his way back into the living room.

As Emma cleaned up the kitchen, she could hear the faint rumblings of a heated conversation through the doorway that connected her to the room where the men had ended up. She recognized it as a language other than English, but didn't have a clue what they were saying. She had the distinct suspicion, however, that it wasn't happy and a good bet that it was about her.

Bag packed up, dishes dried and put away, Emma shifted into the living room herself - making sure that she was loud enough with her movements so that at the very least, James would not be startled.

“All done, gentlemen.” She moved into the room hesitantly, disappointed to see a rather murderous look on James’ face and an equally frustrated one on Liam’s. She feigned ignorance and stepped forward, pressing a gentle kiss to the sitting, elderly man's cheek and squeezing his hand gently. “I'll see you tomorrow for laundry pick-up.”

She turned to leave and thought better of it, extending her hand to James again. “It was nice to meet you, James.”

This time, when his lips brushed against her skin, she expected it. She smiled lightly at him before taking her hand back and heading home.

Once nestled in her apartment, cooled by the air conditioner while she was gone, she first put away her dishes before settling onto her couch/bed and flipping on the television.

Whatever it was she had turned on couldn't hold her interest though, mind shifting to the blue-green eyes that had seem so interested in her intentions all evening. The whole evening was strange but, she imagined that Liam was mixing things up in his head. James was easily young enough to be the son that he had never had. Perhaps he had known James all of the younger man's life?

More than that, though, she let herself think about the metal arm. Her own academic path was designed around such things - different engineering foci geared towards letting her become someone that could create the likes of it.

No metal that she has ever seen could do what it did. It made her curious. And curiosity made her itch for answers.

Emma, for a brief moment, felt as if she were being watched again. Unlikely, she decided, and went back to burying herself in the nonsense on her television.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sloneczko - sunshine  
> Moj skarbe - my treasure.


	2. Laundry and Interrogation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unbeta'ed.

The following day, Emma brought over lunch again when she came to get his laundry. She knocked and James answered, which startled her a little.

She smiled slightly at him, despite the ever-present sort-of-scowl he wore around her. Normally she waited to do her laundry with Liam’s but she had had an inordinate amount to do and didn’t want to bother Karina with everything all in one day. Besides, she’d need to make sure she stripped Liam’s bedsheets for him. Unless James had already done so.

“Laundry pickup,” she offered and then, glancing at the dish in her hands and then back to James’ eyes, “And food delivery.”

“He’s asleep,” James offered, taking the dish from her and stepping out of his way so that she could enter.

“Is he all right?” she responded immediately, concern twisting the smile off her face as she followed him in.

“Oh, yes, just…mid-afternoon Sunday nap,” James smiled softly, although Emma nearly missed it.

He looked a little bit like he wanted to kick her out but didn't. Instead, after they made it into the kitchen and she put the food away, Emma turned into a mug of coffee being thrust into her hands.

“Sit,” and it wasn't an offer.

She raised an eyebrow at him but shrugged a little, setting the coffee down and following his direction. She wondered a minute how he knew that she liked coffee and also how he had made it, perfectly with cream, while she had her head in the fridge.

“Why?”

She looked up at him, eyebrows furrowed at the question. “Why what?”

“Why are you here?” He seemed perturbed at having to explain himself. For her part, Emma did not feel frustrated at being asked.

“To pick up Liam's laundry.”

James did not appear satisfied. He did not have his own coffee but Emma drank happily and thanked him between sips, despite his level, intrusive stare.

“Why? Why are you helping him?”

Emma was, at this point, more confused than anything. “Because he's nice? Because he seems lonely. Because I like him. Because I'm new to the area and don't have many, or any really, friends.”

“Why did you move here with no friends?”

"For school. It's less expensive than living near campus. I'm going to Columbia.”

“Are you expecting, _hoping_ that he will leave you money?”

At this point, Emma's cool demeanor became a little less accepting of his interrogation. She was taken aback and frowned at him, trying to keep her voice level at the accusation. “Of course not!  What a terrible….No, James. No. I don't want his money, or anyone's. I just want him to be happy.” She paused and narrowed her eyes at him. “I should ask you the same thing. Jesus.”

He watched her closely as she spoke, relaxing only a little at her response. He didn't deign to respond to her inference and instead, set his hands on the table - one calloused and flesh, the other metallic and heavy-looking. “Who are you?”

She rolled her eyes a little, setting her cup down again. “My name is Emma Manchester. Emmaline Renee Manchester. I'm from Baltimore. I went to school at MIT for an undergraduate degree in a specific type of engineering and am starting my masters, potentially PhD, at Columbia this fall. My hope is to help engineer prosthetics with longevity and a low price point.” She kept her eyes steady on him, noting that he glanced at his left arm when she mentioned prosthetics. “My mother died when I was young. My father is a retired cop. I enjoy coffee - great job, by the way - and yoga. I run, albeit slowly, for fun.” She paused, her mouth twitching into a smile. “I'm recently twenty-one, I live alone in a tiny apartment, and like to cook. What about you, James?”

His blue eyes remained level with hers, his hair pulled back again and his clothes much the same as those from the day before. He looked, briefly, as if he meant to respond. Instead, he stood from the table and left the room.

Emma snorted into her coffee cup, shaking her head a little and laughing quietly to herself as she sat alone in the kitchen. He was just so _odd_.

When he returned, it was with a large bag full of laundry. He didn't say anything as he extended his hand for her empty mug. She stood and hoisted the bag of laundry over her shoulder, hesitating in the doorway.

“James?” he didn't turn to look at her, her eyes on his back. His arms stilled in the sink but he didn't acknowledge her otherwise. “I'm glad he has you.” His shoulders relaxed a little but Emma turned to leave before she saw him swivel his head to look at her out of his periphery. She missed, too, the beginning of a smile as she passed through the hallway and out the door.

 

\---

 

After dropping the laundry off with Karina, she settled into the coffee shop across the street and toyed on her phone. She checked her email and her bank account, called her father and scrolled through Facebook. She toyed with the idea of looking for the mysterious friend of Liam's but realized she didn't know enough about him to even begin to search. Instead, she engrossed herself in the news and waited until Karina sent her a text to let her know the laundry was ready.

Hiking the short distance back to Liam's, she knocked only to find the door unlocked and no one available. James had changed the sheets, if the bag’s contents were any indication. Not wanting to snoop, she left the bag in the living room against the wall and walked the short distance back to her apartment.

It was still hot and, after peeling herself out of her tanktop and shorts, she changed into a dull blue sports bra and matching athletic shorts. Shoving aside her coffee table (which required movement of some remotes, books, and candles before propping it against one wall), she laid out her yoga mat and turned on the radio.

The feeling of being watched returned but she pushed it away as she shifted smoothly into another pose, a backbend to bridge, and breathed out through the elongation of her core and the bend of her spine. She spent over an hour, twisting and untwisting her body, before she pressed her back into the mat and relaxed, sweaty but comfortable despite it.

The next few weeks continued on this way - running into James almost every time she went to visit Liam, feeling as if there was a presence in her apartment and convincing herself again that she _did not believe in ghosts_ , making dinner and enjoying her free time until it all but disappeared at the end of August.

James seemed to be warming to her, if only a little. He still spoke to her rarely but when he did, it was less angry although no less brief. She spent more time with Liam as the summer wore on, convincing both he and James that she was totally content to spend more time in his home and their presence than alone in her own space.

She noticed things; shared looks between the men, words in conversations. One day, after taking a duster hostage and using it in the living room, she hesitated near a black and white photograph.

She has long-since seen photographs of Liam and Anna in their youth and recognized them immediately. The backdrop was Coney Island, a place that anyone that frequented Brooklyn would recognize. Other people in the picture had her curious; a tiny light-haired man with a broad, friendly grin standing beside Anna. Another woman, hair light in the monochromatic setting, with a dark-haired man’s arm slung low over her shoulders. He was tall and sharp in a military uniform, handsome and eerily familiar. Short dark hair, clean shaven. She thought there was a dimple in his chin but the picture was a little too grainy to be certain.

Emma shrugged to herself, moving away from the picture but unable to figure out why the man looked so familiar. She continued on her cleaning spree.

 

Eventually she turned to the clearing of a throat, finding James standing in the doorway to the kitchen.

Shirtless.

He was sweaty and dirty, hair clinging to the sides of his face and neck where it had come loose from the low ponytail at the base of his skull. Emma tried and failed to keep her eyes away from where his metal shoulder connected to his skin, scar tissue creating fissures that marred otherwise perfect flesh. She wondered, again, what had happened but didn't ask when she managed to find his face once more.

She noted, with slight amusement, that he wore what passed as a smile for him. “Hello, James.”

“‘'lo, Emma.”

“Can I do something for you?”

He looked as if he was, indeed, going to ask her for something. Instead, however, he straightened his spine from his relaxed posture against the wide door frame and moved into the room. He crossed the space in long, albeit languid, strides and lifted the picture she had looked at earlier. His fingers smudged the glass, thumb covering the dark haired man on the far side of the photo. He extended it toward her as she turned to face him, metal index finger tapping gently against the pane as he pointed to the small presumably blond man.

“Do you know who that is?”

She shook her head, smiling faintly. “No. But he looks nice.”

“His name is Steve.”

“That's my father's name,” she smiled wider, looking from the photo to James and back again. “I bet he was nice.”

“The nicest,” James murmured with a hint of fondness.

“That's at Coney Island, isn't it? In front of the ferris wheel.”

“Yes,” James responded, sounding slightly distant. “That's Steve Rogers.”

Emma’s eyebrows furrowed, the name familiar. She looked at him curiously.

“Have you heard of Captain America?”

Emma almost laughed at the question but instead just nodded with a small smile. “Yes, of course. Wait… You don't mean-”

“Yes.”

“Wow,” she looked up at him, clearly surprised. “I guess I was right.”

James stiffened noticeably, so much so that Emma worried he would crush the frame. When he spoke this time, it held nothing but thinly veiled irritation. “About what?”

Emma was taken aback by his sudden shift in mood, reaching out gingerly to take the picture from him and replace it on the mantle. “That he must have been nice. I think Captain America has to be the nicest man in all of history.”

James snorted at her comment and he seemed to relax, if only marginally.  He didn't say anything else as he scanned her before leaving the room again. At this point in the summer, Emma was used to his sudden departures. She no longer thought to question it and, instead, resumed what was left of the cleaning before she made her way back home.

“What an oddball,” she shook her head as she entered her apartment, stripping out of her shorts and settling in cross-legged on her couch. After a moment, she decided to stretch out instead and hummed low as her body adjusted to the new position.

Captain America. She smiled to herself, shaking her head. James had sounded as if he knew the man. Emma rolled her eyes a little and shifted so that she was on her side, facing the television with the length of her legs in clear view of the still uncovered window.

Her body was long; she was tall, a few inches shy of six feet. Her body was befitting that of a pin-up, or at least so she had been told. She was soft in some places, toned in others, and had been referred to as “stacked” on more than one occasion. Her hair, dark and long, complimented the color she had gained from her outside exercise.

Flopping onto her back again, she settled her eyes on the ceiling as she attempted to decide what to do with her afternoon. Eventually she stood and removed the rest of her clothing, in full view of the window she neglected to cover without the thought ever crossing her mind. She puttered around in the nude, putting her clothes in the laundry basket. Her eyes alighted on her yoga mat and she let out a soft laugh.

“Well, why not?” she asked the otherwise empty apartment. After clearing the space, she laid the mat down and began her routine. Her cheeks were flushed before she started; she had never ventured into this territory before. Nude yoga wasn't something that had crossed her mind but she had decided that there was no harm in it. She had no worries of unexpected visitors, not having made friends that would stop by unannounced and her family far enough away that they would call before arriving.

While in downward dog, she heard a muffled noise in the distance; she had long-since grown used to the strange feeling of being watched, as there was no point in looking for a ghost that _did not exist_ in her apartment. She straightened and turned to look out the window; the curtain was still closed next door. She stood, hands on her hips, and skipped her eyes to the roof of Liam's house. She didn't see anything but the peak of the high pitch and shrugged before returning to her routine.

Eventually she moved to the bathroom and showered, returning to the living room with hair dripping and towel around her torso. Her eyes slid to the open window and she saw James, or part of him, turn his head away as he focused on the roof. Despite being smart enough to get into two highly-lauded programs, she did not put two-and-two together. She waved, although his head was turned, before clicking on the television to find something to watch.

Sometime later, hair mostly dry and the memory of having seen James on the roof long faded, Emma stood to find something to eat.


	3. Demands and Commands

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Smutty smut smut smut. You've been warned. Also, un-beta'ed. Also -- THANK YOU to everyone that has read, bookmarked, and kudos'ed. I have to figure out the next chapter and then I've already got bits started for a majority of the other ficlets. I also have a three-day weekend after work tomorrow so BE PREPARED FOR UPDATES!!! <3

More time passed, the beginning of August bringing with it a heat wave. Emma found herself enjoying the newfound freedom of nudity in her solitary space comforting as the temperature climbed well into the nineties and scratched 100 on occasion.

She still made a nuisance of herself at Liam's and brought freshly squeezed lemonade nearly every day, knowing James had to be scorching during his work on the old man's home. She didn't notice the faint flush on James’ cheeks when she handed him his glass or the way his eyes scanned her, and not _entirely_ as if she was a threat.

One afternoon, an unbearably hot one, after Emma had made her daily visit to hydrate the working man and visit the elderly one, she stripped upon entering her home. She stood, staring at her bed as if it held all the secrets to the universe.

She wasn't sure if it was his proximity, his bare chest, or the look in his eyes - but something about James had wormed his way into her thoughts. She felt wrong, almost dirty, knowing that she was contemplating the touch of a man that barely seemed to tolerate the time they spent around each other.

Maybe that was _why_ , she told herself. But it didn't help her feel better about it as she slid into bed, already sticky from the morning heat, and let out a shaky breath.

“This is ridiculous,” she told herself, as if trying to convince her hand out of the path it took down, along her torso. Her breathing caught and she closed her eyes, hand skimming to her thigh before she parted her legs.

Her personal time spent with her hand was short and sweet, the sheen of sweat from something other than the oppressive heat apparent on her skin. It wasn’t perfect, it wasn’t _enough_ but it would let her find another focus for the moment. Letting out a shaky breath, she padded her way into the bathroom to wash up.

She was just drying her hands, having decided a shower could wait until after she ate, when there was a knock on her door. She had left the downstairs door unlocked, fairly commonplace for her during the day.

With a bemused expression, she nearly forgot to grab the light robe hanging off the edge of her bed on her way. Shrugging into it and tying it off, she called, “One sec!” before crossing to the door.

She checked the self-installed peephole to see James, distorted by the shape of the miniscule window, looking...distraught. Terrified that something had happened to Liam, she clicked the lock and tugged the door open.

“James!” she squeaked, taking a step back. “Is everything all right?”

“No,” he responded, a dark look on his face. But it wasn't anger, she knew what that looked like. His pupils were blown wide but she assumed it was from the sunlight.

“Oh god, is Liam-” she started and he silenced her with a look as he crowded her into the apartment.

“He's fine,” he managed out with a clenched jaw as he reached behind himself to close the door, Emma pressed almost back to the wall of the cramped entryway with James less than an inch from her front. “Why?” he asked, and she knew it wasn't about her worry.

“Why what?” she frowned, suddenly confused as to his presence. And his behavior. And the way he was looking at her.

He gestured to her body; she hadn't realized she'd been clutching the robe closed over her chest. She relaxed a little as he then waved his metal arm towards her bed, and then to her unblocked window.

“Oh,” she breathed, face flushing. “I don't have-- wait, you _watched_?” Her voice was incredulous as she looked up at him, eyes wide. “ _Why_?”

He smirked; it would have been charming, in another situation. “How could I not?”

“Turn your damn head!” she squeaked, clenching her robe shut again. “God… Oh god, James, how long have you been watching?”

For his part, he looked a little apologetic as he responded, “A while.”

“But why...but you...you hate me!” she blurted, hands shifting to her hips as she frowned at him.

He snorted, an eyebrow lifted. “I _what_? Why do you think that?”

Emma rolled her eyes, hand lifted to press an index finger against his chest. His bare, beautiful, muscular chest.

“You barely speak to me and when you do, it's _rarely_ _nice_.”

“I can be nice,” he purred - she cursed him as he leaned closer, trapping her arm between them and her between his chest and the wall. “Although, after all your _teasing_ , I'm not sure you _deserve_ it.”

Emma wanted to hold out. She wanted to tell him to leave. She wanted to melt into the shower and disappear, then promptly buy blinds and hide. She wanted to tell herself that it hadn’t been _teasing_ because she didn’t _know_ but part of her, the tiniest little voice in the back of her head, reminded her that she had _hoped_.

But more than that, she wanted to shift her hand to drape on his smooth, tan shoulder and feel his body press into hers. She wanted to feel his metal hand grip against the dip of her waist, wanted to tip her head into hi palm as it curved along the side of her face.

She wanted to tilt her head back and lean up to kiss him.

She couldn't do the last one though, because he beat her to it. He captured her mouth with his, long fingers sliding back into her hair.

He held her tightly, tongue begging entrance before it coaxed hers into action. They kissed like it meant life, like the world had fallen away and it was the only thing keeping them grounded. When they parted to breathe, his words ghosted over her skin. “What were you thinking about?”

“You,” she managed, but only barely.

He cursed in what she now recognized as Russian before growling, “Don't lie to me.”

“I'm not,” she murmured, lips moving against his as she did so. “I _wanted_ it to be _you_.”

He let out a hiss of a breath and clung to her again, ravaging her mouth for a time. When he pulled back this time, it was farther. He looked stricken, torn - almost pained.

“Tell me to go,” he begged, hands still on her.

“No,” she responded resolutely, to which he groaned.

“You don't...this isn't what you want,” he shook his head, hands now coming away from her. He glanced down to his left hand and frowned deeply, the look something entirely different than anything she had seen before.

Tentatively, more for his sake than hers, she reached out and lifted his metal hand. She brought it slowly to her mouth and kissed the palm; he grimaced and jerked slightly, but didn't pull away. She lowered it back to the swell of her hip and settled her hands on his shoulders. “Don't presume to know what I want, James.”

“There is...so much you don't understand.”

“There are more things in heaven and earth,” she retorted, tugging him closer by the grip she had on his shoulders.

With the statement of acceptance, James became a man possessed. He pressed her, hard, into the wall and she was surprised he could breathe, because she knew _she_ was having trouble. She thought her hip would bruise, where his metal hand held her fast. His right hand busied itself burrowing into her dark hair, holding her head a little off the wall but against it as his mouth returned to hers.

Emma moaned into his mouth when he shifted his hand down from her hair, along her neck, only to slide it along the silk of her robe over the bud of her stiff nipple. His metal hand skirted up to the concave curve of her waist and brought with it some of the fabric of her robe. She lifted her head slightly before dropping it back, a dull thud resounding in their small quarters. “ _Jesus_ ,” she sighed, and not in pain.

“Close,” he smirked, head tilting back from the trail he had started down her throat. “ _James_ ,” he amended.

Emma couldn’t help but laugh a little, although it was quickly cut off by a low, humming moan when his mouth latched onto curve where her neck met her shoulder. His left hand slid from her hip to her ass, letting any pretense of control go when his other hand tugged at the loose knot that held her robe closed.  

He let out a hissing breath as he pulled back, drifting his hands from their spots to her shoulders to disrobe her.

“What?” she asked, trying to frown but losing her battle with her smile.

He let out a string of Russian in response as he stood, pupils all but having pushed his irises to nothingness. Something about him – the look on his face like she was all he could see, the sound of the language she didn’t understand betraying more than English words could, the feel of each of his hands running over her sides – sent a shock of desire straight down her. She was already several levels of _ready_ but now she was _impatient_.

She thought of a million things to say but every single one of them fled her mind when he gripped her hips and lifted her bodily from the floor, pulling her flush against him. On instinct, she wrapped her arms around his head and neck, her legs around his torso. The heat of her pressed against his ridged torso and they both let out a moan, him at the feel of her slickness along his stomach and her at the pressure against her clit.

She knew he was strong but she hadn’t expected him to be able to lift her with what appeared to be minimal effort. She appreciated his show of strength more than she had anticipated and let him know with a low hum of approval as he buried his face between her breasts.

“Bed…is in the other room,” she finally managed, when the dizziness that accompanied her rush of hormones cleared enough to think straight.

As he pulled his head from her chest, he nipped lightly at the soft skin his sandpapery cheeks had brushed against. “… _Fuck_ ,” he hissed, his face falling a little. He pressed her back against the wall again. “I don’t have any…”

She blinked a little, trying to catch up to him in her desire-addled state. Don’t have any….Oh! She was on birth control, but there were so many _other_ things one might have to worry about. It wasn’t like she and James had been having conversations that would allude to them ending up in this position, as much as she may have wanted it to happen.

“I…” she paused, face mirroring his for a moment. She didn’t have condoms. Why would she? She hadn’t had a boyfriend since her freshman year of undergrad. She found, more often than not, that men didn’t _really_ want to date women that were smarter than they were. But wait!

“I…” she laughed a little, quietly, and unwound her legs from around him. He let out a noise that sounded almost like a growl as he let her slide to stand on her own two feet again. Her hands slipping down his front, she palmed him gently through his jeans. She smiled at first, and then her eyes widened in absolute surprise. “..Well, shit, I hope they _fit_ ,” she grinned even as his eyes darkened, hands coming up to cup her cheeks before he tugged her for a kiss. Taking him by the hand when they parted to breathe again, she led him into the room that would now serve as her bedroom. He grimaced at the open window and, as she reached into her nightstand/end table to find her prize, he pulled up the lone sheet on her bed to drape it in the window.

Emma watched him with a lopsided smile as she came to standing at the edge of the bed-couch, wide enough for the two of them but only barely, as he turned back around to look at her. In her hands she held an untouched, unopened box of Trojan Magnum condoms and her cheeks were red.

“I…uh…it was a joke. A friend of mine…” she laughed nervously, extending the box to him. “I…uh…” He watched her curiously as he took the box from her hand, opening it with a small _snap_ of the clear sticker that kept it sealed before he used one hand to remove a larger-than-average foil packet. Emma wasn’t a virgin, although her sex life had been limited to the one and only boyfriend she had had up to that point. It was less that it mattered to her and more that it _really_ didn’t, so she hadn’t bothered to take the time to find a suitable partner.

James handed her the box back and dropped the gold packet atop her bed as he crossed the room to wrap his arms around her again, the box crushed between them. She squeaked a little at the edges of the cardboard digging into her abdomen and wriggled free of him to set it down.

She realized, as she stood again, that this was the final moment to decide if she _really_ wanted to venture down this path. The lull that procuring a condom had created allowed her to breathe enough to remember who she was, who he was, where they were. He was looking down at her expectantly when she found his face again and decided in that moment that you only live once and shifted her hands to the closure of his jeans.

“We don’t-” he started as she had managed to shimmy his jeans to his knees, thumbs looped into the dark, smooth fabric of his boxer-briefs. She looked up at him with an expression that froze the words in his throat before she shifted her attention back to her hands, careful to slide the last layer between them the way of his pants. The noise she made was somewhere between a gasp and a moan, turning into something that sounded _eerily_ like a _giggle_.

“I don’t think that will fit in my mouth,” she murmured, eyes on his and a smile on her lips as her hands moved to her own hips. She reached a foot out and tapped the toe of his booted foot. “Your turn.”

“Wasn’t where I planned on putting it,” he responded with a sly smile as he toed off his shoes before bending down to pull away what remained of his outfit. When he straightened again, Emma reached her arms up to clasp against the back of his neck. Her body pressed to his, she slid it up as she pushed herself onto the tips of her toes and nipped his lower lip.

“You have plans for me, James?”

He hummed low, his arms curving around her and his hands splaying over her skin to cover as much as he could. “A few,” he smiled against her lips, nose brushing against hers affectionately. For a moment, it felt like more than just _sex_ and her heart twisted strangely at the thought of it.

“Then show me,” she replied, voice low as she desperately tried to sound sexy and overcome the feeling that she was giving over more than her body to him. She had known him around two months, which felt like forever and no time at all. For all her _want_ , she had never really _believed_ that something like this would come to pass.

As his grin grew but shifted from merely affectionate to laced with _need_ , he turned them so that he could back her into the edge of the bed and coaxed her into sitting until her lowered himself to his knees in front of her.

His hands slid along her legs, up from her ankles to the thickness of her thighs and she parted them slowly; he helped encourage her to move them a little further, a little faster and pressed his thumbs just a little into the flesh that covered her muscles. She settled with her hands on the mattress, unsure of what to do with herself as he _examined_ her. She took in a breath to speak but let it out again when his hands slid further, thumbs shifting to part her.

Emma quickly discovered that her lungs were only  good for moaning as his head moved between her thighs, his tongue testing the waters in one long strip along her slit.  She gasped at the first stroke of his tongue along her clit and was shaking before his thumb replaced it so that it could busy itself elsewhere.  When he pulled his head back and wiped his mouth on the back of his hand, she couldn’t suppress the whimper at the loss of feeling. She had been _so close_ , teetering on the edge and a complete bundle of exposed nerves.

It was then that his index finger flicked across the most sensitive part of her and she let out a breathless yelp, more surprise than pain, before practically melting into a puddle when he smoothed it over with his tongue and slid that same finger into the wetness he had caused, in more than one way.

“Don’t,” he murmured, tilting his head up so that she could catch the brilliant color of his eyes, more blue than anything in those moments. With a shaking exhale, she stilled.

“Don’t what?” she breathed, the words sounding lost.

“Don’t cum yet,” he responded with a wicked, wicked smile. For a moment, the briefest moments that Emma could spare for such thoughts, she wondered if he had been this type of person before losing his arm.

His finger crooked inside of her and she dropped her head back, sighing deeply. She shivered but righted herself, looking down at him with enough presence of mind to ask for clarification, “Request or command?”

The absolutely, _deliciously_ maniacal look of approval on his face at the question nearly had her fall over the edge all on its own. “If there’s an option, command.”

“Yes, sir,” she managed, and he chuckled a little to himself, air blowing impossibly cool across her too-heated lower lips. He brought her close and she begged; he denied her over and over, even as his unused hand found a purpose on her nipple, sending bolts of desire straight through her.

“ _Please_ ,” she half-cried, hips moving with him and she swore she had to be leaving half-moon indentations in the metal of his left shoulder from scrabbling for hold on _anything_. He didn’t stop and she nearly lost the battle with her orgasm.

He stopped after the millionth whine of, “ _James_ ” and pulled back, wiping his mouth and surrounding facial hair on the hand that hadn’t been buried inside of her.

“Are you absolutely sure?” he asked one last time, looking up at her. The look on his face, the sweetness and almost insecurity, made Emma smile for a million different reasons.

“Yes,” she replied without hesitation, sliding her fingers into his hair and pulling him forward, finding his lips with hers. She could taste herself there but it didn’t matter, not one fig; if anything, she appreciated it because it meant what he had been doing. His hands shifted and he lifted her from the edge of the bed, her bottom hovering over the cushion as he shifted her back before he stood. She scooted further back on the bed, hand finding the condom. Emma gingerly tore open the package as James shifted onto the bed between her legs; she hesitated, looking up at him towering over her with a smile unlike any other she had seen on him before. It was almost _loving_ , if she had to put a name on it. Of course, she didn’t and instead looked up at him from the fridge of her dark lashes and reached out to roll the condom down the length of him. He hissed out a breath as she touched him properly for the first time, his eyes closing briefly at the feel of foreign skin against him.

When she had finished, James dropped over her, pressing his left hand into the mattress beside her head as he readjusted his hips. She could feel the weight of him against the part that craved him and watched curiously as his flesh hand slid along her leg before bending it back with a gentle grip on her calf.

Presumably, he had seen enough of her yoga to know just how _far_ she could bend and welcomed the opportunity to test her, her thigh all but against her stomach as he stretched her. His eyes watched her face, waiting for signs of pain – all he received was the faint blush on her cheeks, the hooded eyes filled with desire, and a smile. She watched as his eyes shifted down to where their bodies would join and then back to her face. She took his meaning and reached a hand between them, taking him just above the tip and guiding him home.

The feel of him stretching her, filling her was enough to bring Emma almost to the point of begging for what was probably the hundredth time that night. She clung to him, arms and legs wrapped around him as she tried to pull him deeper and deeper inside of her. He shivered when her walls fluttered around him and kissed her before burying his face against her neck, in her dark curly hair mussed from his fingers. They remained like that for a short time, his cock twitching and her walls tightening in response until she shifted her hips forward in an invitation. Emma let out a whimper of approval at how the shift changed his position inside of her as he pressed her leg down just a little more, thigh flush with the curve of her stomach. She moved her hands from fisting into her sheet to his shoulders, his neck, his hair.

She was jostling against the bed with the force of his thrusts, alternating between moans and whimpers at the feel of him brushing against every part of her, the plane of his pelvic bone occasionally making delicious contact with her unattended bundle of nerves. He groaned something in Russian before shifting and bending himself over her enough to latch onto one of her nipples. Color exploded behind her eyes and she begged, half-crying, for release. The shift in position caused a slew of new sensations and his thrusts started coming faster, harder, and a little more erratic. He spoke in Russian again, it sounding distinctly like a curse, shifting the hand from her calf to her stomach, thumb finding my clit.

“Please, please let-”

“ _Cum_ ,” he all but demanded and she did, with a half scream. Her body shook with what was undoubtedly the greatest orgasm she had experienced to that point with another person, the walls of her stroking him into his own _apparently_ earth-shattering orgasm with a few final thrusts his mouth fully detached from her chest while he growled her name against her lips.

They remained like that, entangled in each other on Emma’s old not-couch with him slowly softening inside of her as they caught their breath. He kissed her again as he straightened his back, passionate but subdued, before he guided her leg back down to its normal position and shifted to lie on his side along hers.

He disconnected from her a little, a small space between them. Turning her head, Emma looked up at him with a curious expression on her face. After a moment she shifted so that her side was pressed to him and she lifted her hand, draping it across his body to take his left hand. She tugged it gently, resting it over her stomach, and entwined her fingers with his.

She half-started several sentences in her head but words didn't leave her lips as her eyes roamed his face, his neck, his chest. 

 

As if realizing something, he gingerly removed himself between Emma and the bed before disappearing into the kitchen. She heard the bathroom door shift, squeaky on its hinges, and then water run. A few moments later, James returned and stood at the side of the bed. Emma waited for him to rejoin her but he didn't. Frowning a little, she sat up and watched him as he moved to gather his clothes.

"So that's it? You come in here, demanding sex, and then just leave?" Her voice was calm, more curious than anything.

James froze, boxers bunched in one hand and jeans held by the waistband in the other. His shoulders slouched a little and he tilted his head up enough to look at her. 

Emma rolled her eyes a little. " _Now_ you resume your silent oath. What is it, James? Am I too young? Talk too much? Not  _pretty_ enough for-"

The dark look that passed over his features and took residence up on his face silenced her as he dropped his clothes with a soft thud to her bare wooden floor. "Stop," he growled, stalking forward. He leaned his hands onto the bed on either side of her and bent, body close to hers. " _Stop._ " It shifted from a demand to a plea. "Emma,  **stop**. It...just, stop." His hands left the mattress and skirted up her arms before his fingers, both metal and flesh, slid over her cheeks and he tilted her face up to press his lips against hers. 

"I don't want you to leave," she breathed against his lips, eyes closed tightly as her hands gripped his hips. "Stay for a little while?"

He sighed heavily, as if letting go of something, and stroked his thumbs over her cheekbones. He pressed a light kiss on her forehead, leaving his mouth there for a moment before he pulled it back enough so that he could nod. "For a little while, milochka."

Emma didn't even bother to ask what the strange word meant; she recalled hearing something like it earlier but figured when he wanted her to know, he would tell her. 


	4. Confusion and Questions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long! All the updates soon! Well. A couple, anyway. This is the last installment for this particular short piece, but more to come for the series as a whole.

A few days after James entered her apartment, they had spoken little after he had left her that afternoon. Emma was growing used to general confusion when it came to James’ interactions with her. She was not, in general, prone to making rash decisions like sleeping with a man she didn’t even know the last name of. She distracted herself with yoga, cleaning, and prep work for her courses. She neither avoided Liam nor increased her visits noticeably.

Four days after the afternoon they spent together, Emma wandered her way over to Liam’s. She had been going over daily to bring lemonade, as she had been doing previously, but she narrowly missed James each time – according to Liam.

This afternoon, lemonade and sandwiches in tow, she settled into the kitchen with the old man.

He made a face after a moment and reached a hand out, setting it gently over Emma’s.

“What did he do?” Liam asked and Emma looked surprised, setting down her glass of lemonade.

“What do you mean?” she responded, eyebrows furrowed. “What did who do?”

“What did James do?”

Emma shook her head as she lifted her lemonade again. “Nothing that I know of. Why, is he all right?”

“Yes, yes. He just has been making faces.”

She narrowed her eyes a little as she tried to discern the man’s meaning. James had been ‘making faces’? “Liam, I don’t really understand. Why do you think he’s done something?”

He rattled off quite a bit of Polish, of which Emma understood almost nothing, and he patted her hand beneath his. “Sloneczko, it will be all right. He is a sad man but he is still a man.”

Emma felt more confused than anything – specifically because she didn’t know how Liam could tell much of anything was going on and she really, truly doubted that James had breathed a word of what had transpired between them.  “Liam, you worry too much. I am certain if something is the matter with him, he will tell you about it.”

“Ah, but that is not the problem, is it? It is not that there is something _wrong_ , it is that he has done something that has left him wanting.”

 _How did he know_ , she wondered as she tried to cover the surprise on her features by sipping her lemonade. When she had swallowed, she looked over at him again. “He’s a smart man, isn’t he? He’ll figure out how to get what he wants, if he wants it badly enough.”

“It’s more often that he thinks he doesn’t deserve it, I find,” Liam replied, making a face before he took a drink. “I have known him for a long time, moj skarbe. He carries many burdens, too many for a man so good.”

Liam’s continued speech wasn’t helping to dispel any of the confusion that centered around James in Emma’s head. She still didn’t understand how he could’ve known James for so long; he could’ve known the man for the younger’s entire life, but the way Liam said it sounded so strange. She did believe James was good; he had not shown her anything to the contrary, slight stalking aside. She supposed it didn’t count as stalking – he happened to be in a place that allowed him to see her in situations she would’ve gladly shown him, had he asked. She would’ve been lying if she said she wouldn’t have at least been tempted, had the roles been reversed. If it had been someone _else_ , it might’ve been an issue – someone she didn’t know, perhaps. It toed the line of decency, but she had made her peace with it.

“I haven’t seen him around much,” Emma replied by way of changing the subject. “He is still coming around, though, right?”

“Certainly he is. The roof is halfway to finished by now. It’s strange that you miss each other so often.”

Emma thought back a little; it wasn’t truly that strange. It had only been four days since he had come over; there had been plenty of times in the weeks prior that they had gone days on end without so much as a ‘how do you do’ passed between them, one coming and one going. Like ships passing in the night, her father would’ve said. It _felt_ strange, but that was because it now felt like they had a _reason_ to see each other. He had stayed with her for some time after they had come together and she hadn’t thought his leaving to be particularly abrupt or dismissive. To her knowledge, strangely enough, he didn’t have any sort of phone – this concerned her more for Liam’s sake than her own, truth be told.

“Ships passing in the night,” she voiced with a small smile, hearing her father’s voice in her head. “We’ll see each other again, I wager.”

“Who will you be seeing again?”

James had a very bad habit of being very silent; Emma jumped a little in her chair, wondering just how long he had been within earshot of their conversation. She felt her cheeks go red as she twisted her torso in the chair, shifting to look at him. She considered, albeit briefly, lying but decided that Liam would probably out her without meaning to. “You,” she replied nonchalantly. “There’s lemonade, if you’d like some.”

“It would appear that you are prophetic,” he almost-smirked, joining them at the table. There was something about him that struck her as different but she wasn’t quite sure what it was. The set of his shoulders? The look in his eyes? Emma was at a loss.

The three of them sat in silence only briefly before Liam struck up another conversation; less than thirty minutes later, he excused himself for his afternoon nap. Both James and Emma stood with the intent to help him to his room but he brushed both of them off and insisted that they sit.

When they were left to their own devices, Emma couldn’t think of anything to say. She busied herself pour more lemonade for the both of them and resting back in her chair.

“I-” James started before cutting himself off. He cleared his throat and leaned his elbows on the table, half-reaching for Emma. “I’m not sure what to say.”

“About what? Or in general? I suppose we could talk about the weather, but that seems a little on the nose,” she smiled wanly, raising a dark eyebrow.

The expression he wore was one of awe, almost, but it quickly shifted to something less obvious. “I’m sorry.”

“What are you sorry for?”

“I _told_ you it was a bad idea.”

Emma’s eyebrows furrowed and she sat back in her chair, folding her arms over her chest. “I’m not entirely sure what your goal is here, but I think you ought to reconsider. What exactly do you think is going on here? Because I had just kind of assumed we were the victims of poor timing lately.”

“You mean you weren’t avoiding…” James stopped, expression mirroring hers slightly.

“You thought I was avoiding you? You’re worse than a teenager,” she snorted a little, sliding her eyes to the ceiling briefly before she looked back at him. “No, I’m not avoiding you. I wasn’t about to leave a note with Liam for you. I figured you’d either drop by, or we’d run into each other here.” The look on his face brought a smile to her own; it was something akin to relief. “So now that we’ve got that all cleared up…would you like to come over for dinner sometime?”


End file.
